All I Want For Christmas is You
by LadyKailitha
Summary: Sherlock is trying make Christmas merry for John. All he needs is the perfect gift. If only John would tell him what he wants so that he can get it for him. Turns out it was easier than he thought.


**A/N: Merry Christmas! I hope everyone is having a good day. And if you don't celebrate, I hope your day is fantastic nonetheless.**

 **I originally wrote this story as a Christmas present to my beta, Old Ping Hai, but now it's a gift for all of you as well.**

 **I want to thank the people who have been with me this year and in years past for their wonderful support. You lovely people know who you are and if you don't, trust me, you are amazing.**

* * *

It had been a rough year for both Sherlock and John. With the mystery behind the video and all the fallout that came from that. The nasty encounter with Culverton Smith. And the disappearance of Mary after the death of her and John's daughter, Rosie. They had weathered it all and they were certainly far worse for the wear.

But John was back at Baker Street with Sherlock. And Sherlock breathed in the very essence of John Watson as it began refill the empty spaces that had been hollowed out by John marrying Mary. Every day John was becoming more and more like himself and less of the shadow that he had been when he first came to 221B.

It was Christmas yet again. Sherlock wanted to make it special. They hadn't had a good Christmas together and it was bearing down on Sherlock like a weight around his neck. He had to make it the best Christmas ever.

He had done everything he could to make it merry. A tree decorated with mementos of their best cases. The most atrocious Christmas jumpers he could find for both him and John. Filling the air with Christmas music both recorded and played by himself. Holly wreaths and garland gracing their mantelpiece. A Santa hat for the skull. Helping Mrs Hudson with the biscuits. For Christ's sake, he'd even bought Christmas crackers.

And every piece of Christmas spirit brought a smile to John's face. And each time it grew bigger and more genuine. There was only one thing left to make it all perfect. He needed to get John the best present possible.

He had pressed the doctor many times for a Christmas list. Something, anything that would give Sherlock an idea of what he could get his friend. But each time John would shake his head and smile.

Just two days from Christmas and Sherlock was getting desperate. He cornered John after breakfast.

"Please!" Sherlock begged. "Just a hint. Anything! It doesn't matter the cost. I'd do anything. I'd clean the entire kitchen."

John chuckled. "As amazing as that would be, Sherlock," John shook his head, "what I want the most you can't give me."

Sherlock hung his head. "I can't bring Rosie back, and Mycroft's trying to find Mary. But he says that she will only be found when she wants to be."

John squeezed his eyes shut. "Not that, Sherlock. I've made my peace with both of those facts. Honest. I just don't have the words to describe what it is I want."

Sherlock raised his head to look John in the eyes. But there was no lie in any of John's features. He covered his mouth and went "Oh!" He began running around their flat over turning things and rifling through the mess on the table John used as his desk.

"Sherlock!" John called, but it fell on deaf ears as Sherlock continued to rummage around. After a moment or two Sherlock came back with his prizes. A pen and a slip of paper.

"You can write it down." He handed them to John. The doctor took them gingerly. "As much I tease you about your blog, John, there is never a doubt that your strength lies in prose. You articulate your feelings better when you write them down. Maybe it will work for what you want for Christmas."

John looked at the paper and pen and sighed. "What if you can't get it for me?"

"I will burn the paper and get you something else."

"You won't make fun of me or..." John couldn't finish that sentence. He squeezed his eyes shut.

"I will even delete it from my mind palace," Sherlock promised.

John let out a half sob, half laugh. But he nodded his assent.

"You can even hide it, so I have to look for it, if you'd like," Sherlock suggested, hopeful.

John reached out his hand and Sherlock shook it, sealing their agreement.

* * *

John waited until Sherlock had dropped off in a doze on the sofa. John looked fondly at the sleeping figure. This mad man had done it again. Just like with his wedding, Sherlock had gone out of his way to make his Christmas perfect. And it was. Well, nearly.

He looked at the paper. It was really nice paper. Like the kind that one would write invitations or Christmas cards on. The pen was no slouch either. Not that Sherlock would have anything less in the flat. His life revolved around needing a pen to jot down whatever thought crossed that brilliant mind of his, and having a pen not work the first time ended up with the thing in the fire.

Why was it so hard for John to ask for what he wanted? What he really wanted. Of course, Sherlock thought that it was wanting his family back. But that ship had sailed.

He took a deep breath. He folded the paper in two and wrote on both the outside and the inside. Making it very much like the Christmas card the paper should have been used for.

Once he was finished, he put it some place safe, then quietly slipped out of their flat. He didn't want to be there when Sherlock read the note. He didn't think he could stand it.

* * *

Sherlock woke with the soft click of John closing the sitting room door. He waited until he could hear the thud of the front door closing before he was on his feet. He could feel the thrill of anticipation. This was better than a case. He would finally learn what John wanted most in the world.

He rubbed his hands together and scanned the room. It appeared that either John didn't have much faith in his abilities or didn't want to hide it at all, because there in the clenched jaw of the skull on the mantelpiece was a slim, white piece of paper.

Sherlock frowned, but took the paper from Billy's teeth. He stuck it in his pocket. He had promised that he would burn the letter. And it felt appropriate that considering he found it on the mantel, it should be burned in the fire. He built up the fire and got a good blaze going before he drew the note out.

On the outside it read, _All I want for Christmas is:_

He opened the paper and fell to the rug into front of the grate. He read the one word over and over again, hand pressed against his mouth, tears streaming down his face. He clutched it to his chest and began to rock back and forth, the tears never stopping.

He wasn't sure how long he sat there, the fire slowly dying as he struggled to understand that simple word. But he looked up when John walked through the door. Judging from the bag and the smell of warm food wafting from it, Sherlock knew that he had gone and gotten them dinner.

But one look at Sherlock and the bag fell to the floor. John rushed to Sherlock's side. He felt the burn of the carpet as he skidded on his knees in front of his best friend.

"Sherlock!" he cried, grabbing the slim shoulders and forcing Sherlock to look him in the eye. "Are you all right?"

Sherlock could only his shake his head.

At first John couldn't figure out what was wrong as he felt for wounds, but when he saw the note grasped in Sherlock's fist, he knew.

"Oh Sherlock," John said mournfully. He reached out and gently took the note from Sherlock and he made to throw the wretched thing into the fire when Sherlock cried out.

"Don't!"

John stopped but he looked at Sherlock in disbelief. "You promised, Sherlock. You said you'd burn it. Then delete it. Please..."

Sherlock took the note back and opened it up to that extraordinary word one more time.

"You're right, I can't give you what you want," Sherlock croaked, his voice raw from the tears and emotion.

John let out a sob as his own tears slipped down his face.

Sherlock looked up. "But I want to so much. So, so much." He reached out and wiped John's cheek with his thumb. "But I can't give it to you because I don't know how to. I'm not who you need. I'm violent, I'm rude, I am nothing without you. But if you want me, I'll try. I'd move heaven and earth for one day. Just one."

The pieces of John's broken heart mended at the thought that Sherlock didn't think he was good enough. That John would ever leave the detective. Like John ever could. It showed John that it wasn't that Sherlock didn't feel, but that the feelings were too much. That Sherlock loved him.

"A million years wouldn't be long enough as long as you were by my side, Sherlock," he breathed.

He suddenly found himself with an armful of consulting detective. He soothed Sherlock as the heart-breaking sobs of when he came in changed to the tears of a man who had been given the greatest gift of all.

So the present that John was sure Sherlock couldn't give turned out the be the perfect gift for them both.

His lips found Sherlock's and the world fell away. He always thought that phrase was a literary device, but it was true. The world had become just the two of them, on the hearth rug at 221B Baker Street.

John needed to have him closer, so he dragged the detective down to the floor with him. The soft moan that came from Sherlock was the most wonderful thing that he had every heard. It was so pure and yet so sensuous. John loved it. Loved him.

"I love you," he whispered.

Sherlock raised up slightly so that he could look John in the eye. "And you are the most incredible man I've ever met, my heart is yours to keep."

"Good," John said, firmly. He dragged Sherlock back down for another kiss.

Sherlock dropped the note so that he could touch. Oh, the touch. It was better than anything he could have dreamed up. He wrapped himself around the man who had shown him what it meant to be human.

The note lay opened on the floor as they continued to kiss. The note that had brought them together in ways they never thought possible.

 _All I want for Christmas is... you!_


End file.
